


The Shower

by strawwolf



Category: Lyatt - Fandom, Timeless - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawwolf/pseuds/strawwolf
Summary: Lucy runs into Wyatt in the shower because someone forgot to put the chair out. Again.





	The Shower

It’s been a few days but Lucy’s slowly adjusting to her new reality and life in the bunker. She misses the sun on her face and hates being cooped up like a rat in a cage. But as Rufus reminds her, better to go stir crazy inside than be dead outside. So she spends her time wandering the bunker, devouring whatever books Denise brings her for research and being awkward around Wyatt. 

Ever since she got back the tension between them had increased tenfold. They share heated glances and casual touches. His hands always manage to find her back, her arm, the circumference of her waist. And she can’t get that bright cheeky grin out of her head.

And yet, Jessica. The ghost that stands between them. Every time she thinks about how there’s something between them, she’s reminded that it can’t happen. And it tainted every smile, every touch with the thought of  _never_  when she preferred  _not yet._

It’s this that distracts her as she shuffles to the showers, threadbare towel in one hand, shampoo in the other. She shoves the door open with her shoulder, only to see Wyatt from behind, stark naked.

“Oh!” She jumps, shuts her eyes and snaps about face, cheeks flush with red. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

The water turns off and he clears his throat. “ Sorry. There’s supposed to be a chair.”

“Right.” She tapped her toweled fist against her thigh and tried  **not**  to think about what she just saw but the visual won’t stop running through her mind. The one word on the tip of her tongue is “sculpted” and she can help but grin 

“I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Sure.” She moves to leave when a thought strikes her. “Hey Wyatt? What was that on your back?” It had only been a glimpse but it didn’t look like a tattoo, more a smattering of something.

“Hmm?”

“On your back. Is there…”

“It’s nothing.”

She rolls her eyes. The casual brush-off hadn’t worked since he first called her ma’am. “Well now I know you’re lying.”

“It’s not a big deal. When the bomb went off I got hit by some shrapnel.”

 _Oh._ And here she was imagining he and Rufus had escaped unscathed. That miraculously they’d been spared any of the fallout that had obliterated the building.

She doesn’t know what makes her do it but she can’t quite stop herself when she blurts out, “Can I see?”

“What?”

“I just…did you see a doctor? Did you need surgery?” The tremble in her voice is involuntary as is the yawing pitch of her stomach as she imagines how it happened, him turning from the explosion.

He sighs and after a beat of silence he answers. “If I let you look can I finish my shower in peace?”

“Promise. Are you decent?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he grumbles. 

When she turns Wyatt’s in a towel, shoulders stiff and he’s got his grumpy puppy face on. But she ignores the look and walks around him until she can see his back again. Jaw clenched she keeps from gasping at the injuries scored across his skin. He’s not the only one who hates pity.

One shaky breath she lifts a hand as tears bead at the corner of her eyes. She gently lays fingers alongside one of the larger wounds and he flinches at the touch.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No. Your hands are just cold.”

She hmms and cups her hands, breathing into her palms. This time she splays both hands beneath the wounds, thumbs touching like wings against his back.

“How’s that?”

He grunts unintelligibly but beneath her fingers she can feel him relax into the touch, his shoulders slump. For a long while they stand like that until she slowly leans forward, touching her forehead against the back of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer but she feels his fingers on her right hand, having reached his left around to reach her. 

Silently they rest. Just two broken people, trying to put each other back together.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
